WILLIAM. Yes.... Yes.
(There is silence for a little.)
[233]MARION (going over to ISOBEL and shaking her by the arm). Is it really true what you’ve been saying?
ISOBEL. Oh, how I wish it weren’t.
MARION (to WILLIAM). Is it true?
WILLIAM. He told her. She wouldn’t make it up.
MARION. But there’s all that beautiful poetry. I’ve been brought up to believe in it all my life. I’ve lived on it. And now you’ve taken it away, and you’ve left—nothing.
ISOBEL. Nothing.
MARION (quite lost). I don’t understand. (She goes back in a vague, bewildered way to her chair....)
SEPTIMA (defiantly). The poetry is still there—and Jenkins.